Cutting up Pizza

Yesterday I took the older two boys to a birthday party.

The birthday party was for their little friend Anna, who turned 3.

My boys were the oldest ones there. I left Lincoln at home with his aunt.

I asked them what they wanted to get Anna. Deacon chose pink lotion and a mustard colored loofah with a pink duck attached. Roman said he wanted to give her cereal. He proudly presented her with a box of Apple Jacks and My little Pony fruit snacks.

It was nice to be there with 2 kids who I didn't have to chase. I even managed to hold my friends baby for awhile while I helped Deacon and Roman with their craft.

It felt good to be able to be able to help with someone else's kid instead of always being helped. (can we forget for a second that my sister was helping me with Lincoln at home? Maybe we can't).

And then it was time to eat. I grabbed the boys punch. I handed them plates filled with pizza slices, fruit and chips. Then I made up my own plate exactly like theirs and we sat down to eat. I looked around. All the other moms were furiously cutting up their kid's pizza into tiny bites and helping them handle cups of juice.

And I didn't have to. My kids are bigger. They are older. They could handle regular pieces. (can we forget for a second that I don't even cut up pizza for my 2 year old, and haven't since he was maybe13 months? Maybe we can't).

When we left the 3 of us walked to the van. They stayed right by me and no hand holding, carrying or correction was required. (Can we forget for a second that it is not always that way? Maybe we can't). They climbed into their own seats and I made 1 quick click to buckle in Roman. Deacon did his own.

And we drove away.

I love babies and I love young children.

But everyonce in awhile it is nice to see a little glimpse of the future.